


ElFebruary 2018

by Rhunae



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-03-26 20:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 9,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13865445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhunae/pseuds/Rhunae
Summary: Edit: 5/26- Edit and added Prompt 14.Tumblr Prompt: ElFebruary 20181. Dream; 2. Memento; 3. A Surprise Gift; 4. Bitter Truth; 5. First Snow; 6. A Secret7. Reunion; 8. Lost Somewhere; 9. A Sudden Vacation; 10. Sweetness; 11. Love Letters; 12. Failure13. Lazy Morning; 14. Losing Something/Someone Important; 15. Portal; 16. Betrayal; 17. Empty Threat; 18. A long Day/Night19. Curse; 20. Celebration; 21. First Adventure; 22. Fate; 23. Friendfiction; 24. Lullaby25. Foreign Cuisine; 26. Overwhelmed; 27. City; 28. RegretFinished Prompts: Days 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 14, 22, 23.Writing Prompts for Serafina Lavellan spanning from her childhood through Inquisition, Trespasser, and beyond.





	1. Day 1: Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fade dreaming with Solas - During Inquisition

**Emerald Graves, Dream, 9:41 Dragon**

 

“Why did we stop here, vhenan?”

“This statue, and the Emerald Knight… it reminds me of us.”

Serafina and Solas stood before a large wolf statue lying in regal-sphinx pose, the gray rock missing the green lichen that covered the surface in waking, the Dream only reflecting the more permanent statue. In waking, the Emerald Graves lived up to its name, a verdant and lush forest of mature trees for every Emerald Knight slaughtered in battle; here in the Dream the couple walked in muted grays.

Solas’ storm-gray eyes narrowed, “How so, vhenan?

“I’m Inquisitor, a Knight-Enchanter, a protector - not just the Dalish or mages, and… well, I don’t need to list all my titles with you. And you stand by my side, protecting me, my own guardian, my own wolf, as it were.”

“Are you calling me a wolf?” Solas crossed his arms.

Serafina wasn’t sure if he was amused or nervous. She turned to him, “I’m calling you my guardian. We fight together, we eat together, and in dreams…”

Solas interjected, “I guard you…”

Stammering, Serafina fidgeted with the hem of her shirt, “It was merely a romantic notion. If you take offense to it, thenIwon’tmentionitagain. Itwassillyofme. I’msorry.” She turned away from him. Turned away from the statue and strode away.

Before she took two steps away, Solas grabbed her by the arm, and gathered her close, “No, it’s not that.” He teased his thumb across her lower lip with familiar intimacy. She melted to his touch. “If someone, your clan, other Dalish, would overhear your nickname for me, would they not mistake it for Fen’harel?” He eyed her intently, wolfishly, a smirk playing across his lips.

Serafina shook her head, eyes wide, “For the trickster god? No.” She gestured to the statue with a stab of her chin, “Wolves of the forests, they’re predators, they’re intelligent, but they are social creatures, are they not? They hunt together, share their lives, form strong familial bonds. The lone wolf, when he leaves his pack, he seeks…” Serafina searched his eyes, imploring, “Something? Another wolf, perhaps? A mate? Have we not found that as Knight and her Guardian?”

Solas visibly relaxed, “In this context, I appreciate the sentimentality of it.” He touched his nose to hers, “I’ll be your wolf, vhenan.”


	2. Day 2: Momento

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of Inquisition

**Skyhold, 9:42 Dragon**

 

Corypheus defeated, destroyed by his own pride. After the collective sigh of relief from the inhabitants of Skyhold, a cheer rose up and hadn’t ended. The celebration started the moment she and her team stepped foot back into Skyhold. The party continued and wouldn’t end until late into the night. Serafina thanked her advisers and companions before retiring to her chambers.

  
Josephine was a nervous wreck, but she had outdone herself in such short notice. The finger foods, the variety of wines, Solas would have loved the frilly cakes. Serafina choked back a sob. A hand darted out to grasp the banister as she sagged onto the stairs, she clung to it like a life-line until the grief passed.

“Damn you, Solas. Why?” Tears rolled down her cheeks.

Sighing in resignation, she pushed herself back to her feet. 

“Come on. One step at a time. You can’t break down yet,” Serafina told herself, making the steady climb up the stairs. “I should be happy, elated. Corypheus is dead. The Red Templars dead or crushed; scattered to the winds. Samson is sitting in a cell in the Skyhold prison as Cullen’s punching bag, and Dagna’s pet project. We did it.” Even to her, her voice sounded less than enthused. 

It was a bitter victory.

> _No Matter what comes, I want you to know that what we had was real._

Solas left directly after the battle, last seen walking west. He should be here, at her side, celebrating with her. With a feral growl, she punched the door to her chambers.

“FUCK!” She clutched her hand to her chest, waiting for the pain and throbbing to subside. “Dammit! Shit! Son of a…” She leaned her head against the door, taking deep breaths, and hoping she didn’t break anything. “That was dumb.”

Once the pain subsided to a dull throb, Serafina opened the door to her quarters, climbed the stairs, and scanned the room. Since the breakup, this room felt infinitely emptier, but hope endured, he would explain everything after the battle. “Dammit, Solas! This is when you were supposed to explain yourself.”

Something on the bed caught her attention. She approached, curious about the small brown package nestled against her pillow. She gathered the package and note attached. Breaking the seal, she unfolded the note.

> _Ar lath ma, vhenan._

Confused, Serafina flipped the page over, then back again, looking for any other writing, but that was it. She tore into the package. An aged jaw bone on a leather strap fell into her hand.

She gasped, starring at the memento in stunned silence.

 


	3. Day 3: A surprise Gift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the two year period after Inquisition but before Trespasser

**Skyhold, 9:43 Dragon**

 

“Hello love, how is my favorite elf?”

Serafina clutched the crystal near her face to respond, “Overjoyed now that my favorite Tavinter has called me. I’ve missed your face. How are you?”

Dorian chuckled, his rich, velvety voice muted through the crystal, “My face is quite miss-able. Changes are too bloody slow to implement, but changes are being made. Excruciatingly slow.”

Serafina laughs, “With your charisma, I’m surprised you haven’t turned the Imperium completely upside down.”

“Not for lack of trying. You’d think more would be charmed by my wit. I found some books you might find of interest. I am sending them through a courier.”

Serafina paces across the carpet in front of the throne, “Excellent! About the Fade?”

“And a couple others you might find fascinating. Anything to help you find that bastard.”

“Have… Have you come up with anything out there?”

Dorian sighed, “You know you would be the first to know. Unfortunately, it’s silent. Other than an outflux of elves disappearing. Not many, but some of the Magisters are beginning to complain.”

“Like here.”

The angry Tavinter’s voice crackled through the crystal, “I would give anything to know what that damned fade-walker is doing.”  
“Working on it.”

“I know you are, love. I’m wanted for a meeting. They are endless these days. Oh, save me from this drudgery!”

Serafina grins, “You know very well you are welcome to return to the Inquisition.”

“Thank you. Every day I kick myself knowing I could be getting in trouble with you instead. Uh… Tell Iron Bull…”

“I will.”

Dorian’s voice turns brusque, “Ahh, but responsibility calls. Until later.”

“Until later.”

When she turned to step down from the dais, a courier stood waiting with a scroll and a large covered basket at her feet, “Delivery for you, Inquisitor.”

Serafina slipped the crystal into her shirt, “Thank you.”

Once the scroll had exchanged hands, the courier bowed and strode away.

Serafina unrolled the scroll and read the elegant script.

>   _I found this and thought of you. I hope you like it._

Serafina blinked. That courier was an elf. She ran the length of the throne room and out the keep. Searching the upper courtyard, Serafina didn’t see the courier. She turned to scan the lower courtyard. Still nothing. She ran down the steps and sprinted to the gate. The courier was gone, rode off on a halla according to witnesses.

Returning to the throne room, the basket wobbled and whatever was inside made noises. Frowning, Serafina cautiously removed the lid and peeked inside. A gray ball of fur yipped at her and whined, yellow eyes pleading with her.

Giggling, Serafina reached in, pulling out the small wolf pup, “Well, hello there, darling. Where did you come from?” Rubbing her hands through its fur, her fingers caught on the red ribbon around its neck. Attached was a note.

>   _Since I can’t be at your side._

Emotions welled up in the depth of her chest and threatened to spill out from the edges of her eyes. “Dammit.” She cursed under her breath. “That bastard.” She buried her face in its fur, “What shall I name you da’fen?”

 


	4. Day 4: Bitter Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the two year period after Inquisition but before Trespasser

**Somewhere in the Dales, 9:43 Dragon**

 

The creak of wagon wheels crunching on gravel had Serafina lumbering to her feet. She tread on a whisper of bare feet from her sitting room onto the balcony to observe the activity of an otherwise isolated estate, whilst drumming impatient fingertips against the balcony banister.

From this distance, she heard the guards loudly greet the wagon driver. They were quick to jump from their post to swing open the metal gate, the hinges expelling a squealing grate. The wagon lurched forward and rumbled into the courtyard pulled by a pair of harts, beasts similar to antelopes, but larger, cousin to the halla her people used to pull their aravels. Krem sat in the driver’s seat with two more Chargers sitting on the back end of the wagon. She raised a hand in welcome, Krem returned it.

“Woah!” Krem called out to the harts as he pulled the reigns; the wagon shuddered to a halt as it reached the front door of the estate. 

Krem and the other Chargers helped three small children out of the cart and escorted them into the house, a servant waiting at the door to usher them into their temporary home. Over the next hour the young orphans would have a bath, dressed in new clothes, and fed before they joined the others. 

The youngsters with the least amount of troubles would travel to Val Royeaux where nobles clamored to adopt the Civil War’s less fortunate, at least that was the case once they learned the Inquisitor adopted an orphaned child. Older children and those who needed more care before adoption traveled to Skyhold where they would remain with the army, integrated as little helpers outside their school hours. Widowed parents of small children had the option to work in Skyhold or Val Royeaux, or wherever else the Inquisition needed them.

“Krem is back, boss. Only three this time.” Iron Bull leaned against the door jam, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

“I see. It’s good we’re finding fewer and fewer.”

“Yeah. We’ve a few more villages after this. What is the plan after?”

Serafina glanced over her shoulder, “I’m at this one’s whim.” Her hand settled on her round belly, a somber smile touching the corners of her lips. She resumed her study of the courtyard, elsewhere in the estate echoed the infectious laughter of children, “This isn’t how I imagined this.”

“How so, boss?”

“I figured I would be with my clan and father of my child in celebration of this new life. Not holed up on some estate in the Dales with a merc group, a Tevinter mage, and a midwife, trying to keep a pregnancy secret from everyone, just so the news didn’t reach the father’s ears.” The words tasted bitter in her mouth, like bile on her tongue.

Iron Bull pushed away from the door jam and approached her left side to lean on the banister. “Rescuing orphaned kids after a civil war was certainly a clever way to cover it up. Plus you are doing those kids some good.” 

Serafina snorted blandly, “How else to explain why I have a kid in tow, than to say I adopted one?” 

Iron Bull snickered under his breath, “You’ll fool most people except the very best.” 

“Truly?”

“Eventually the kid will start looking like you.”

“Hmm.” Serafina rubbed her temples with her fingertips, “Helping the widows and children is a needed priority anyway. Far too many are without parents after the civil war. Too many innocents caught in the crossfire between mages and templars. It was the least the Inquisition could do to bring order. I would have done it, regardless of my… current situation.”

Iron Bull nodded, “It’s a good thing, too. The nobles are near worthless.” He paused, chewing on his next words, “Do you ever plan to tell him?” 

Serafina leaned her forearms against the banister, worrying her lower lip. “Despite wanting to tell him, I can’t.”

“Can’t, or won’t?” Iron Bull asked.

“Can’t,” Serafina glanced at Iron Bull, “A child shouldn’t be used as leverage against another. If I told him now, that’s all it would be. Right? If he’s coming home, it’s because he wants to, not out of some perceived obligation.”

“Perceived obligation? Are elves different? Doesn't it take…”

“Yes, yes…” She sighed with exasperation, the bitterness giving bite to her words, “but he lost that right when he left without a trace.”

“Ok.” The Tal Vashoth rubbed his large paw across his chin, “Am I getting this right, you think he would consider it a weapon against him?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“Remember, the Qun doesn’t put much emphasis on what you Southlanders consider the family unit.”

“Ahh, yes. It depends on whether this is a welcome obligation or not. Originally,…” Serafina lifted her left hand, pursing her lips as she scanned the mark on her hand, “I didn’t want this. I never wanted this. I do it because I must. There’s no one else. A forced upon obligation. But if given the choice, I would return to my people. Cassandra and I disagreed constantly in the beginning.” She chuckled wryly at the memories, “I thought for certain she’d imprison me after we destroyed Corypheus. But now, its a welcome obligation. The Inquisition is doing good work out here.” Serafina turned around to lean against the banister, the pressure felt good against her aching lower back. Her hands brushed across her extended belly, her voice dropping to a loving whisper, “It is an obligation, but you have to want it. Otherwise, it does irreparable harm to the innocent. I can’t take that risk.”

“You remember our chess game?”

Serafina’s shoulders sag, “It’s the very reason I keep the news from him.”

“And your dreams?”

“Safe guarded as best I can, with Dorian’s help.”

“That’s a bitter pill to swallow, boss.”

“That it is.”


	5. Day 5: First Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Serafina, age 10 years old  
> Twenty-two years before Inquisition

**Mountain Lake, Free Marches, 9:19 Dragon**

 

In late-spring, a storm blew through the mountain valley from nowhere, dumping well over a foot of snow over a week’s time. It plummeted temperatures to well below freezing, whitewashing what was an otherwise verdant and colorful landscape. By the seventh day, the winds subsided. Large, fluffy snow flakes floated down from a sky turned to a pale, puffy gray.

Serafina bounded from the aravel into a world of white so bright it appeared almost blue. With exuberant joy, she plowed through the snow with the endurance of any ten year old ready for an adventure after being stuck inside for a week. Racing across the circular expanse created by the aravels, she called out to her cousin, “Luc! Luc!” 

As the Halla Master released the halla from their enclosure, she paused to watch the prideful creatures gracefully trot out into the open to roam. She waved to the Halla Master, Dhavihal. He returned her wave.

She darted up two steps when Luc bounded out and smacked right into her. The two tumbled down the steps and into the snow in a lump of limbs. They jumped up giggling with glee. 

“Don’t go far, kids. Another storm might blow through,” Terys called after her,

“Can we go down by the lake, papae?” Serafina asked, begging, “Pleeeeeeeaaasssseeeee?” 

Terys chuckled, “Make sure the hunters know where you are.”

Leaning against the aravel doorframe, Shathor, a taller, older version of Luc, called out, “I’ll go with them, brother.” He pressed two fingers to his lips to whistle, “Aenor!” He disappeared back inside.

Cheering, she and Luc started to run for the edge of the camp.

“You need more layers before you wander down to the lake.” Serafina’s mother called from an open window. “Luc, you too.” 

“Mamae! Mamae! Can I go too?!” Serafina’s little sister begged.

“No, you’re too young, da’len. Stay in camp.”

Siona whined. Serafina stuck out her tongue when their parents weren’t paying attention.

The younger sister scowled and stomped away.

“Attitude, da’len, or you’ll be helping me all day instead,” Viera warned.

“Yes, mamae.”

Serafina fidgeted while Viera pulled her coat tight, tied all the laces and fastened the buttons, lastly tucking her scarlet hair into her hood. “Listen to your uncle. Stay out of trouble.”

“Yes, mamae.” She kissed her mom on the cheek.

Once Serafina wore enough layers to appease Viera, she met Luc at the treeline, and raced him down the hill to the lake. Her uncle Shathor and his apprentice, Aenor followed behind, their attention on spotting wild predators.

Serafina ran ahead until a snowball thudded against her back, nearly knocking her to the ground. She gasped in surprise. “I’m gonna get you!” Gathering a handful of snow, she packed it together into a tight ball, and chucked it at Luc, thumping him in the chest just as he rose up with another snowball. 

It went back and forth until the cousins reached the shore of the lake.

“It’s frozen,” Serafina whispered in awe, tugging at an ice-encased leaf from the pussy willow growing along the shoreline.

Squatting beside the lake, Luc packed another snowball, then tossed it across the frozen lake; watching the snowball skitter and break apart across the ice.

“I’ve never seen a lake frozen before,” Serafina tapped her booted toe on the icy part between the lake and shore.

“I didn’t know it was possible,” Luc stood beside her, pushing his weight on one foot. The ice held. He took another cautious step forward and bounced his weight.

“It did get really cold this week,” Serafina mused, following him and bouncing her weight on the ice. 

“Weird for late spring, yeah? Papae said the volcano brought the snow,” Luc propelled forward, his feet skating more than walking on ice. “Ooo! You can skate on it!”

“How can a volcano bring snow?” She scrunched her nose in disbelief. 

“I dunno, “Luc shrugged his shoulders.

“Hmm. Do you think it’s safe?” Serafina rubbed her foot across the slick surface.

“It seems like it.” 

Serafina followed him, the pair skittering across the ice like a pair of newborn halla.

Luc fell forward first. 

Serafina windmilled her arms, but fell beside him. She rolled onto her back, watching the fluffy flakes fall from the gray sky. Gaping her mouth open, she stuck out her tongue to catch a snowflake.

“C’mon, lets go further out. This is fun.” Luc carefully climbed to his feet and tapped his toe impatiently. 

Rising to her feet, she ran across the surface to build up speed, “C’mon, silly goose. Catch me if you can!” She soared across the ice with exuberant glee.

CRACK! 

The ice under her splintered.

Eyes wide, “Luc…? She stared at the fracturing ice, gradually splitting apart under her, “LUC!”

“SERAFINA!” Shathor yelled from the distance, running for her as he shed his jacket.

The ice burst apart. 

With a blood curdling scream, Serafina plunged into icy water.

She kicked her small legs to swim back to the surface, but the layers of clothing pulled her deeper. Her lungs burned. She reached. Freezing fingers grasped for ice, for air, anything. Only water. Only frigid cold. She watched the surface float further away while darkness edged in.

Another dove into the icy cold, grabbed her by the waist, and swam hard back to the surface. She gasped the moment they reached the surface, coughing up water.  
Shathor wrapped the rope around her waist, “Lay flat. I’ll push you to Aenor,” he instructed, his teeth starting to chatter. 

All she could do was lay flat. He grabbed her feet and shoved, skidding her across the ice toward his apprentice. 

Aenor tugged on the rope with one hand, his other hand stretched out, his face set with grim determination. As their fingers touched, the ice cracked under her. He seized her hand and hauled her to him. He removed the rope around her waist, slinging it over his head to cast it to Shathor. “Crawl back. Stay on your belly. Get home. Now. Get your father.”

Serafina’s teeth chattered loudly, her crawling tediously slow. The bitter cold seeped into her skin and muscles, and chilled her bones. She tried to get to her feet, but the cold sapped the strength from her body.

Aenor called out to Shathor. The frustration. The slap of rope. The crack of ice. The shouts. The panic.

She crept to the edge of the lake and into the snowbank. Her teeth chattered. She would rest here. She was off the lake. The pussy willow sheathed in ice wavered above her. She needed rest. Just another moment. The voices faded. The darkness stretched across her vision.

Her eyelids fluttered closed…

She was swept her off the ground, “Serafina! Serafina!” 

“Mamae?” Serafina whispered. The warmth faded, and ice snapped at her. 

She blinked…

“Keep your eyes open, da’len.” Her mother’s voice, comforting. Trudging and bounding, Viera ran. Other voices, the hunters. Frantic. Panic. Full of fear. 

Blink…

Sounds felt like molten liquid. A log shoved into the stove. The coals raked. Her little sister’s sobbing. Her clothes yanked off in layers. The fire burned her skin. Her mother’s rough hands scuffed her arms. Rough hands scraped at her legs. Feeling dragged harshly into chilled limbs. Dry wool dragged like needles across her skin.

Flutter...

“Here. Drink this.” A cup of tea coerced her lips to open, to sip the liquid fire. It warmed her insides, dislodging the icicles.

Blink…

Boots stomped outside. Her father. He left. He returned. Terys wrapped her in a blanket and settled her in his lap in front of the stove. His face grim. His arms cold. His teeth chattered.

“Shathor?” Viera asked, voice full of dread.

“No.” The single word held such finality. 

“May Falon’din guide him,” Her mother whispered.

 


	6. Day 6: A Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cole surprises Serafina with a bit of news she was not expecting.

**Ramparts, Skyhold, 9:42 Dragon**

Standing alone on the ramparts overlooking the bridge, and the gate tower at the other end, Serafina waited in vain for a familiar bald head to return, to come through the gate, to come home. He had disappeared after the final battle with Corypheus. That was a week ago, and still, everyday, she would come to the ramparts and wait, and wonder, and hope, that once he calmed down from losing the orb that he would return. That’s how it had been when he lost his friend, Wisdom. Once he was able to come to terms with the loss, he returned to her side. But now? Why hadn’t he returned? Had she done something to push him away? Had she said something?

“I heard you scream. Full of anguish and agony. Pang of pain. Love loss. Trying to find the strength to endure,” Cole murmured in his sing-song tone. He leaned against the rampart, looking down, then returned his attention to her.

Startled by the sudden company, Serafina shook her head at the spirit of compassion, “I hadn’t said anything just now.”

“Last night, in the fade,” he said, “When all was dreaming, you, you were screaming. Your anguish. Your sorrow. I want to help. I didn’t want to intrude-then. Can I help-now?”

“Oh, Cole, I just want him home,” she said, her lips quivering. Serafina gripped the stone of the ramparts, trying to dig her nails into the rock, a bit of physical pain to ease the emotional anguish she felt.

Cole dropped his head, “He will not.”

Serafina sighed, grief-stricken, “I know. I wish he would talk to me. To explain.”

“He loved you. He loves you still.”

“Everyday he stays away breaks my heart more.”A tear slid down her cheek. Serafina scrubbed it away, upset with herself for falling apart.

“Your part, sealing the rift, is done. His part has only begun.”

Serafina glanced over at Cole, “What do you means? What part does he play? What do you know, Cole?”

Compassion shook his head, “I cannot say. I don’t know his plans. That’s not helpful. I was trying to help.”

“Oh,” the disappointment deflating her, “Being able to talk about it helps, Cole. Ma serannas.”

Cole lightly touched her shoulder, Serafina moved in against him, and leaned her head against his shoulder, the brim of his hat shielding her. For a spirit, his form was solid and the hug, though unexpected, was comforting. He didn’t smell human, he smelled of the fade, something reminiscent of a foggy morning, a hint of cinnamon and vanilla, and the brackishness of dreams — it reminded her all the more of Solas. She burst into tears and sobbed against Cole’s shoulder. One arm wrapped around the small of her back as the other palm rubbed concentric circles over her upper back.

“I just—I’m so tired.” The tears still rolled down her cheeks, but the gut wrenching sobbing had subsided, “This whole thing… The stress of running the Inquisition, Solas leaving me…Sometimes I just want to crawl into bed and never wake up again.”

Cole stood there, listening, his head bent down, the side of his head touching hers, “Don’t do that. You’re needed here,” he paused, when his head popped up with the most confused expression she had seen on his face, “I hear something. Something strange and beautiful and different. Something within you.”

Serafina stared at him perplexed, “What? What are you talking about?”

“A heartbeat, a second heartbeat,” his hand thumped his chest where his heart was, “A thump thump here, but also…” he pressed his hand to her belly below her belly button, “a fainter thump thump here.”

Serafina’s eyes widened as large as saucers and began shaking her head, untangling herself from his loose hug, “Impossible. No. That can’t be.”

Cole cant his head, listening, “Growing, stretching, swimming, curious, always curious.”

Serafina back peddled away from him, “Uh, no, there shouldn’t be. Don’t, don’t tell anyone about this.”

She fled the ramparts, back to the keep, and straight to the library to find Dorian.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I found a Tweet asking what the Fade would smell like. Here is the link with Patrick Weeke's response, in case you were wondering where I came up with the smell. 
> 
> https://twitter.com/PatrickWeekes/status/945722914711543809


	7. Day 7: Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ten Year Arlathvhen takes place in the Dales, in part because the Dalish Inquisitor asked, and also because it was nearing time.

**7\. Reunion**

**Dales, 9:45 Dragon**

 

The Glorious One sailed the currents, her scales glinting like emeralds and obsidian under the noon sun, her neck arching to feel the warmth radiating upon her scales, the leather of her wings stretched, flexing out to collect the sun’s rays. Dipping from a high current high above the clouds, gliding through a cloud to a lower and slower wind current, she circled aloft a clearing far below. The dragon roared, watching the two-legged creatures scatter while others formed lines with bows and arrows cocked. All useless to this dragon, her mage protected Ataashi, the cool sensation crackling over her scales, smelled it in her nostrils, and tasted it on her tongue. The feather touch of her mage sat squarely on her shoulders, and it was to her People this dragon flew to meet; those small beings down below with their bows and arrows and fear. But bound to her mage, the Glorious One would not eat her People. But the halla looked like plump and tasty snacks.

  
Prior to her capture and torture, the Glorious One would never consent to taxiing around an elf, such puny little creatures. This was no ordinary elf. The scent of He Who Stalks the Winding Paths still lingered upon her skin. The Touch of the Mother rested upon her brow. A mighty mage with the skill to free Ataashi from her capturers; those insignificant, weak distant relatives. Pissant fools. No, this mage might be missing a wing, but she was no ordinary elf. Ataashi chose to help this elf. The return of the Elvhen meant the freedom of her kin. The Mother promised.

  
Yet also, if Ataashi was honest with herself, she was honor-bound to the one she owed her life. A grating admission to be indebted to such a small being. If Ataashi was honest with herself, she enjoyed the strange affections gifted her.

* * *

Hanging onto the leather harness, Serafina leaned down along the dragon’s neck as the high dragon swooped in concentrated (concentric?) circles over the vacant end of the field, avoiding the other end of the field hosting a plethora of colorful tents and aravels of different sizes whilst white halla roamed gracefully between them. The ten year Arlathvhen arrived and the Dalish gathered en masse. A year previous, she sent out runners to find the clans for this meeting, though she wasn’t expecting many clans to show, nor did she know how many clans there were, truth be told. She hoped enough of them decided to make the journey to the Dales.

  
Ataashi landed, jarring Serafina in her seat; she still wasn’t used to the rough landings. At least she no longer clung to the dragon in fear of falling off, the harness and magic helped in that regard. The high dragon crouched and extended her wing to help the elf down from her off her shoulders. Once Serafina was on the ground, she adjusted the toddler on her back; he was sleeping in his harness, but she didn’t know for how long. Giving Ataashi a pat on the side of her head and muzzle, she left the dragon behind and strode across the field toward the gathering of the Dalish. The hunters had made a semi circle around the dragon, their bows and arrows cocked, but they fell back when one of their own walked towards them. It was not every day a Dalish elf flew in on a dragon.

  
The onlookers parted, allowing a group of elders, the Keepers, to step past their lines and approach the new comer. At one point, the anchor marked her as the Inquisitor. Now, the lyrium-veined metal arm Dagna crafted for her became her signature feature. They knew her by reputation, even if they did not know the purpose of this meeting. Word spread quickly among the clans one of their own lead Andraste’s Inquisition.

  
“You need to send your beast away, lethallan. It will scare the halla.” An older woman with dark skin and black hair, only recently beginning to grey at the temples, said to her, amber eyes darting fretfully towards the poison dragon.

  
“She is hungry anyway, and the halla were looking delicious,” Serafina agreed, winking at one of the small children who had come closer to investigate.

  
Turning, Serafina mentally bid the dragon to find a place to eat and rest. Perhaps a bear with a nice cave.

  
Ataashi roared in response, her version of laughing. Beating her wings and galloping across the terrain, she kicked up dust and debris as she maneuvered to become airborne, catching flight just before reaching the gathering of elves as they skittered and dove out of her way. The dragon flapped her wings as she flew low over the elves, circling the field until she gained enough height to fly away. Every Dalish stood with mouth agape as they watched her fly off into the distance toward the mountains.

  
“Mamae. Ataashi?” Theneras pointed with his tiny chubby hand at the dragon circling and flying away.  
“She’s going to have lunch, da’fen,” Serafina told him. “Are you hungry?”

  
“Yes!” He agreed immediately.

  
“Is clan Lavellan here?” Serafina called out, crossing the distance between her and the gathering of Keepers.

  
“We are here, da’len.” Deshanna stepped out from behind the others and approached, leaning more heavily on her staff than Serafina remembered.

  
Her clan would not be standing here if Serafina had not successfully intervened in a Venitori plot four years previously. The dangerous plight of her clan and the Wycome’s elves began with an attack by suspiciously well armed and well trained bandits and the oily deceptive grin of a Duke. While the humans were being infected from a lyrium-poisoned well, the elves showed none, causing jealousy and suspicion among the humans. It was a treacherous dance in subterfuge where any wrong move would kill her clan and the city elves. Each letter she received from her Keeper had her nerves jittering on edge, the bilious anxiety threatened to force its way over her tongue. Often, she would consult with Bull and Solas to assist in navigating her options. Once the plot revealed the Duke and Venitori’s deception, it came down to either diplomacy with the Marchers who listened to the vile polemic of the remaining nobles who fled— or sending Inquisition forces to defend the city before the Marchers arrived. If not for the nagging dread at the back of her mind, she may have chosen diplomacy because her clan maintained friendly relations with humans during peaceful negotiations and trade; however, with tensions running high and the humans looking for a scapegoat, diplomacy would not protect her people. Serafina was all too familiar with the whispers of derision from humans, even as their Herald. She shied on the conservative side, and sent her troops to protect her family. It proved to be the correct choice in the end. A squad remained barracked there, and the assistance Varric sent from Kirkwall later further cemented Deshanna’s claim on the Council Board.

  
Serafina smiled broadly, wrapping her arm tight around the Keeper, knowing full well just how close she came to nearly losing her and the rest of the clan, “It’s good to see you again, Hahren.”

  
Deshanna enfolded her once apprentice and First in her arms, “You as well, da’len. Oh! You have sprouted an extra head!”

  
Serafina giggled, “Keeper Deshanna, meet my son, Theneras.”

  
Theneras hid his face in Serafina’s hair, only barely peeking out from under the scarlet strands.

  
Deshanna wrapped her arm around Serafina’s waist, careful not to dislodge Theneras in his harness, the younger allowing the elder to lead them to the Clan Lavellan camp, chuckling softly at the little boy’s antics, “It’s nice to finally meet you, da’len.” Turning to Serafina, “How far did you travel by that great beast of yours?”

  
“From Skyhold. It’s a ten day ride by horseback, but a little over four hours by dragon. It certainly allows me to get around much quicker.” Five years since she had seen her clan. Five years since she walked among them, broke bread with them, laughed and argued with them.

  
It was good to be home.

  
“Four hours without food. The boy must be starving. Come, you must eat before you gather with the Keepers.” The older woman tugged her forward, leaning as heavily on Serafina as she did her staff.

  
A tall, slender man blocked their path, Serafina recognized him immediately as Keeper Hawen, “It’s good to see you again, Inquisitor. This meeting, you called us here for a reason. Did you not?”

  
“Tsk!” Keeper Deshanna admonished him, “Hawen, you can wait. The poor child will expire right in front of us if she doesn’t eat soon. And the boy, too.”

  
Hawen blinked, leaning to the side as a little face with a shock of ginger atop of his head peaked from behind his mother. “Yes, I see. We should all break for lunch, then meet in an hour at the Keeper’s tent. Until then, da’len.” He turned on his heel, informing the rest of the Keepers the plan, before striding off towards his camp. Thus the group broke apart and went off to their respective camps.

  
As the pair, Keeper and Inquisitor, Auntie and Niece, swept through the camp, they passed through circles of laughter, music, hawking of wares, conversations, storytelling, children chasing each other, and shy new lovers peeking from either side of the Matchmakers. Each camp cooked food reminiscent from the various places they hailed from, the different smells causing her mouth to water as they passed. If she wasn’t hungry before, she definitely was now.

  
Upon arriving to the Clan Lavellan aravels, Luc stepped forward as the pair approached, beaming ear to ear. “I saw the dragon, but I had guard duty here. I heard the rumors you rode a dragon, but did not believe it till now.”

  
Serafina slipped away from Deshanna to wrap her arms around her cousin’s waist for a hug. A head taller than her, the ends of his black hair resting on his shoulders, and the most violet eyes she had ever seen on anyone; rough around the edges, crows feet, and laugh lines, but still the same Luc, “Yeah, well, comes with the territory of being a bad ass.”  
Luc laughs, “As humble as ever. And who is this?”

  
Theneras hides behind Serafina’s head, giggling and wiggling when noticed.

  
“He’s a little boy getting too squirmy to be on my back, is who he is. A little help if you will?”

  
Luc slipped behind her as she knelt on one knee, allowing him leverage to help her little man out of the harness. Theneras freed, he darted off in a burst of untamed energy.  
“I wish I had that kind of energy.” Luc said, “It never ceases to amaze me how much energy kids have.”

  
“You have now met Theneras, my da’fen. He keeps me on my toes.”

  
“Da’fen, is there a story there?” Luc asked with a side glance.

  
Serafina leaned in conspiratorially, whispering so Deshanna would not hear her words, “I mated under the full Wolf Moon with the Dread Wolf.”

  
He nudged her ribs, “Get out.”

  
Serafina shrugs nonchalantly, “Suit yourself.”

  
Keeper Deshanna peered at her with narrowed eyes, “I heard that, da’len. You should not joke about such things.”

  
Luc snorted, teasing with a hint of seriousness, “Sacrilege.”

  
A sudden somberness spread over Serafina’s jovial emotions, “Yes, I know, or the Dread Wolf take me.”

  
Luc snickered, Deshanna pleased she would take her words seriously. If they only knew the Dread Wolf already knew her scent, knew her as intimately as she teased. A blue moon hung low in the midsummer night sky that night, camped out in the Arbor Wilds with frogs croaking to the music made by the strings of locusts, the following morning they would descend upon the Temple of Mythal; but that night Solas took her by the hand and led her into the jungle away from the rest of camp where they made magic in the moonlight.

  
Several weeks later, she realized what had happened, that magical burst of sparks she felt was conception. The folly of forgetting her bitter tea for prevention.

  
The three followed Theneras’ trail further into the circle of aravels when he stopped dead in his tracks in front of his grandparents, unbeknownst to him or them. With introductions aside, her mother fawned over the two year old, spoiling him rotten within minutes.

  
Deshanna hobbled to the campfire, bringing Serafina by the arm with her to sit down. From there, the clan gathered; her parents, her siblings, their respective families, her cousin and his family, and the rest of the clan. Keeper Deshanna received first choice of the meal, followed by their honored guest. Serafina may be family, but her duties kept her away from the clan for too many years, though she has made sure the Inquisition maintained a close eye on Wycome, and even bought a house discreetly for Keeper Deshanna. With food shared, laughter shared, some heated arguments, but the Keeper quickly soothed those over, the clan overall enjoyed their lunch repast.

  
It was good to be home.


	14. Day 14: Losing Something/Someone Important

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The End of Trespasser  
> Serafina stops Solas to ask him one last thing before he leaves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Word count: 879

**14\. Losing Something/Someone Important**

  
  
**Shrine of the Dread Wolf, 9:44 Dragon**

  
  
_Solas, var lath vir suledin!_  
_I wish it could, vhenan. I will never forget you._

  
  
“Solas. Wait. One more question.”  
  
Walking away with shoulders hunched and hands at his side, Solas paused and glanced to the side.  
  
Pushing herself off her knees, the tingling weirdness in her left arm forcing her to keep it close to her body protectively, Serafina asks, “Are you working for, or with, Mythal? Or Flemeth as she is known now? She said something to me, before. It’s nagged at me,…”  
  
Pulling out a piece of paper folded and creased so many times the edges are tattered, Serafina sauntered slowly forward, “Her words, the old god soul she took from the boy, even the glow in her eyes. She told me,…” Shoving the paper back in her pocket, Serafina recites from memory, “‘I have carried Mythal through the ages, seeking the justice denied to her.’ I asked why would Mythal go to Flemeth and not one of us, to the People? She answered, ‘For a reckoning that will shake the very heavens. – Things happened that were never meant to happen.’ Mythal was betrayed, like Flemeth was betrayed, like the world was betrayed. Flemeth intends to see Mythal avenged. Is this,… is this what you intend to do? You locked away the old gods, was that not justice enough? And was the betrayal she spoke of the veil you placed over the world?”  
  
Smirking, Solas answered, “That is more than one question, vhenan. And we are out of time here.”  
  
Stooping to pluck a flower from the side of the path, Serafina approached closer, “No, the question asked is if you are working for or with Mythal.” Rounding to face him, she blocked his path to the large Eluvian behind her. “Whatever you intend, Solas,…” She glanced down at the white wild flower in her hand, “…you have refused to give me a choice.” Tilting her gaze back to his, “You have shackled me to the choice you provided me. None.”  
  
Solas turned his head away and down, eyes closing with a pained expression.  
  
Reaching out with the flower, but just as he was about to step away, Serafina whispered, “Please, allow me this.” When he stopped moving, his body noticeably tense, she gently tucked the flower behind his ear. A memory of happier days flooded her thoughts, a smile spreading across her lips from the reverie when she would tuck flowers behind his ear or crown his bald head with a wreath of flowers during their travels together. When their eyes met again, the sadness melted her smile away.  
  
Serafina hardened her voice, “Allow me a choice, Solas. I am Mythal’s creature, and despite whatever she commands of me, it is still not of my choosing.”  
  
“You tied yourself to the well,” Solas harshly reprimanded her.  
  
 Scoffing at the rebuke, Serafina snapped, “I cannot sit idly by waiting for death, nor do I want to fight you.” Laughing with a hint of desperation, “A fight against not just one god, but two. Fuck, I might as well slit my throat now.”  
  
Solas glanced up, “Please don’t do that, you have a lovely throat. It would be a damned shame to see it marred.”  
  
“Then tell me what I need to know, Solas,” Serafina demanded, “I have half the magi of Southern Thedas at my back. You’re only one man, even if you have an old god soul – you know, with the whole eye glowy bit –” her hand waving near her eyes for emphasis, “but I, and the Inquisition, could mitigate the death and damage done to my world, and help the survivors weather the chaos as you bring back yours. Please. I’m begging you.”  
  
Solas palmed her cheek, pulling her closer for a kiss to hide his smile. It’s tender, sweet, distracted, as he pressed a metal object into her right palm. He leaned his forehead against hers, whispering, “A key. A clue. Your fade walking is improving. But was it the anchor or natural talent? Perhaps you will find what this key fits before I pull the veil down. You do not have much time. Ar lath ma, vhenan.”  
  
Stepping to the side and passing her, Solas resumed his causal saunter to the Eluvian.  
  
“You did not answer me.”  
  
“No, I did not. It would be too easy to tell you everything,” he replied with admiration, his hand touched the eluvian then stepped through. Once he disappeared through it, the mirror faded to dark .  
  
“Fuck,” Serafina sighed, the whole conversation would take time to digest and was already giving her a headache to go with the weird tingly sensations coming from her left hand. Fen’fucking’Harel. “Fuck,” she repeated. Glancing at the metal object in her hand, she turned it over to investigate; a thick copper disc as large as her palm with ancient Elvhen writing etched into its surface on one side and a blazing sun on the other. "What are you supposed to open?" she asked the inanimate object. She stuffed the item in her pouch, gave the large eluvian one last mournful look, then turned on her heel back to the smaller eluvian she used to find Solas. Iron Bull, Dorian, and, Cole would be on the other side waiting for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this immediately after playing Trespasser, and hope one day to add it to the Solavellan fanfic I've been writing off and on.
> 
> Posted originally on Tumblr: https://rhunae.tumblr.com/post/170990366159/day-14-losing-somethingsomeone-important-i
> 
> Recent comments inspired me to finally edit this mess and post it here on A03. Thank you. <3


	22. Day 22: Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day the Temple of Sacred Ashes exploded - The beginning of Inquisition

**Conclave Meeting, Haven, 9:41 Dragon**

 

“You should return to camp, Hale,” Serafina offered, pushing her staff into the snow, taking a careful step forward, and sinking ankle deep into the drift.

“Keeper Lavellan told me to keep an eye on you.” Haleir muttered, rubbing a hand along the back of his neck under his shoulder-length, blonde hair. He stepped beside her sinking to his ankles in snow. “Too many Templars here for my comfort. Who knows what they would do to you.”

“Nothing,” Serafina spat. They had barely broke their fast and already her annoyance level was high. Striding onto the pebbled path behind a wagon rumbling past, her booted heel crunched on gravel and icy snow, “Half the conclave are mages. I’ll be just another mage among half a hundred dozen others.” 

“You’re Dalish.” Haleir grumbled beside her, settling his hand on his sword hilt, “They’ll look at you more closely than the Circle mages.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Still, the Keeper—” Haleir insisted.

“I know.” Serafina cut him off, increasingly becoming irritated with this line of discourse. Her traveling companion was several years older than her, having left his clan in Fereldan shortly after his wife died in a bandit attack on his clan. With the memories too sharp, he left and headed north across the sea to the Free Marches. It was pure happenstance he found Clan Lavellan. That was several years ago. Before she left her clan, to Keeper Istimaelthoriel Lavellan, he volunteered to travel with her behind her back, giving her no recourse to decline his increasing advances. It grated on her. 

Haleir cast a sideways glance down on her, his voice softening, “Lathallan, please. I worry about you. You run into danger without giving any thought about yourself. And this whole event rubs me wrong. I have a terrible feeling about this.”

“Noted.” Serafina grumbled with annoyance. “You didn’t have to come with me.”

“Yes, I did. The Keeper—”

“I spoke to the Keeper.” She snapped at him. When she noticed others glancing their way, she lowered her voice, hissing, “I reiterate, you didn’t need to come with me.” She passed under the gateway arch into Haven, ignoring the two guards watching them.

“Not… initially,” Haleir hesitated, following her up the steps.

Serafina glanced from side to side, trying to determine which direction she needed to go. Locating the chantry up the hill, she stomped up the next set of stone steps to the next level. She halted at the top as a group of chatting humans passed by heading to the tavern on the right, “What’s done is done, Hale. I’m not pleased, but you know that.” 

Behind the humans, her eyes followed a tall, bald elf, wearing a thigh-length green vest belted around the waist, tan colored sweater, green linen pants, and foot wraps that ended at his knees. He didn’t seem part of the group, purposely keeping his distance but heading in the same direction. With wrists crossed at the small of his back, his narrow gaze casually swept the small, crowded village. For a moment their eyes lock, his unhurried gait pausing a heartbeat. It’s all she needed to admire the sideways glance of his storm-grey eyes, the freckles across his cheeks, the floop of his elven ears, the dimple in his chin, and the bow-curve of his deliciously plump lips. Then he ambled away. There was something about his bearing she couldn’t place, it was different than other elves. What she had seen of city elves, they hunched their shoulders like repeatedly kicked, mangy alley dogs; or the wary, distrust of her own defiant people, skittering on the edges of human society; whereas Circle elves had the naivety of the cloistered and oppressed. His bearing had the confidence of a general scrutinizing his troops, despite his clothes comparably appearing stitched together from out of a trash heap. His clothing didn’t define him, nor diminish his pride. A mental image of their two bare bodies intertwined invaded her thoughts, plump lips tracing down her neck to the divot between her collar bone. Fighting the blush trying to spread across her cheeks, she gave herself a mental shake. No time for that. 

“You know I’ve always held you in high regard.” Haleir pressed, subdued.

“What? Oh. Yes. I appreciate that.” Nodding with a flick of her hand, as she tried to wrangle her thoughts to the here and now. With one more appreciating glance toward the departing back of the bald elf, disappointed that his sweater and vest covered so much, disappointed she didn’t have more time, disappointed, or rather perturbed, she was having the same fucking conversation with Haleir since they left Wycome; it took all her will power to turn away from the retreating back of the tall elf to head further up the hill to the chantry. Duty first. She would find out his name later.

“As First, its a welcome relief to know that my clan accepts me. Particularly when I don’t always have time to socialize with everyone.” It was the most polite and dismissive thing she could say at that moment, as they moved through the crowds up the hill, especially since her thoughts kept returning to the brief glimpse between her and the other elf, and the lascivious thoughts that continued to invade her concentration. What in the Creators was wrong with her? Sure, it had been a few… years, ever since — and nope, she wasn’t going there either.

The chantry doors swung open with Serafina nearly plowing into a chantry sister.

“Oh! Excuse me!” The chantry sister gasped, yet attired more formidable than most sisters Serafina had come across. Not that she earnestly went looking for them. 

“Are you here for the Conclave? Obviously, yes? You’ll need to take the bridge to the Temple of Sacred Ashes.” Pointing in the direction of the bridge, the petite woman spoke with an accent Serafina couldn’t place. The sister wore a dark woolen cowl covering her ginger-red hair, but the fabric color seemed to bring out the blue in her attentive gaze, “A Dalish? We’ve not seen any of the clans here. That’s exciting. Why would your clan be interested in the Conclave?”

“My Keeper thought it would be important to know what is happening. In case it affects us.”

“Oh, very smart. If you don’t want to miss anything, you ought to hurry. They start these things early.” The sister leaned close to Serafina, speaking in a conspiratorial tone, “But if you ask me, its been dreadfully boring. It’s why I’ve remained here. In Haven.”

“Thank you for your time, Sister.” Serafina smiled graciously.

“Oh, I’m not a sister, call me Leliana. Come back in the evening. It would be exciting to speak with you both later.”

“I’d like that.” Serafina replied diplomatically, waving and leaving the chantry behind. Haleir picked up where their conversation left off, though damned if she could remember anything he said when that damn bald elf kept invading her thoughts. They headed down the hill to the bridge across the lake, the warrior at her side heeling like any trained dog. A day would come soon when she would regret the miserable way she treated him.


	23. Day 23: Friendfiction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the Writers of Thedas discord, a few of us were mentioning lightning runes and Solas, so I wrote a little thing.
> 
> For ElFebruary, it stated no NSFW, but this is.

**Tease [Skyhold, 9:42 Dragon]**

 

**[Lavellan]**

Standing by the door, Lavellan glanced over at the table Varric usually sat at, but he had already gone to his room. It was late, the throne room was empty. Opening the door, she stepped inside, down the short hall into the rotunda. Solas was on the couch reading, head propped on the arm rest and a blanket pulled up to his waist. Clenching her fist, Lavellan closed her eyes and took several breaths to gain the courage she needed before heading over to him. Sitting down on the floor, she leaned her back against the couch nearest his head.

Without glancing up, Solas murmured, “Inquisitor.”

“Solas.”

“It’s late, can this wait?”

“No, this will be quick,” she said, pulling out a stone-like item from her pocket. ”I found something while cleaning tonight.” Passing the stone from hand to hand, she kept it hidden from his immediate view. “I thought I lost it. Do you remember when you bought it for me?”

“What are you talking about?” A sound of movement as he glanced over her shoulder, Lavellan paused in passing it from hand to hand to display the object in her hand, he flopped back on his back, “Oh.”

“It wasn’t Denerim, what town was that?”

“Val Royeaux,” he said, turning a page of his book.

“Was it? Oh yes, it was, down that little side alley.”

“Mhm.”

“Do you remember what we did with it?”

“Are you going somewhere with this?”

“I remember you pulled me aside before we ever left, between a stack of crates, I definitely remember now. You had me from behind, whispering what you were going to do, and then—”

“I know what I said and did,” Solas muttered behind her.

“Pulled on the laces of my leather pants, and slid your hand with the rune down between my thighs. It was cold to the touch, so cold, but your fingers were so warm as you pressed it into me.”

“Inquisitor,” a hint of frustration in his tone.

“You were insistent that my body heat would warm up the lightning rune in no time. And then… you made it vibrate,” Lavellan sighed, sliding down the couch in exaggeration. “Oh Creators,” her voice a little breathy reminiscing.

“Unless you have a point to this story, I’m going to sleep,” his tone carefully neutral as he set the bookmark in place, and set the book on the couch arm rest. He turned over, his back to her.

Without bothering to signify she heard, Lavellan continued, “You teased me all the way back to Skyhold, refusing to finish what you started. Until late at night, in this very room, on this very couch. You took me from behind, I was so wet, you had to wrap your hand over my mouth to keep me from crying out while you pounded me from behind. Do you remember?”

Solas grunted.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Rising from off the ground, she turned and bent over his curled up form to whisper near his ear, “And with that, I’m returning to my room, remember that night in every naughty and explicit detail while I finger myself, body humming with desire until I whimper your name with my release. You _could_ join me,” the one word heavy with implications of a what a rendezvous meant now after their Crestwood break-up.

“Why are you telling me this? I cannot,” he sounded sullen. Good.

She rose back to her full height, “Because I want the distraction. All of it. Everything you were willing to give me.” Setting the rune on his hip, Lavellan padded away from the couch, back through the door, closing it quietly behind her.

  

**[Solas]**

Listening to her leave, Solas didn’t release the breath he had been holding until the door closed. He picked up the rune off his hip and held it in his hand. It was still warm from her touch. He adjusted himself, because if he hadn’t turned over, she would’ve noticed the effect she was having on him. He pushed the blankets off, turned over, and swung his legs over the side of the couch. He needed some air.

Leaving his room through the side door toward the ramparts, Solas walked the length of the ramparts toward the mage tower, taking deep breaths and trying to clear his head. It was taking every bit of will power not to run up the stairs to her room. He glanced up to notice her standing on the balcony. She turned without seeing him, closing the balcony doors behind her, and pulling the curtains closed.

Solas made his way back around the ramparts, thinking about what she said, but more specifically the memory she conjured up. He recalled wanting to keep her wanton the whole way back to Skyhold. Talking to someone, eating, walking, he'd send a bit of a zap to the rune, and it would force her to pause, close her eyes, and wait for him to release her from his hold. It was deliciously amusing for him, to watch her suffer at his hand. Then late at night, she would beg him for release, mewling and whimpering. He refused, kissed her gently, and sent her back to her tent with explicit orders-- she was not allowed to give herself release.

The first night they were back in Skyhold, he instructed her to bathe and return when the library above was clear. He recalled her scent and the lavender soap she used on her body and hair. He could swear he could still smell the lavender even now. He brought the rune to his nose, it smelled of lavender. But of course it did. It also held the cloying scent of her sex. Solas sucked in his breath, whispering, “Vixen.”

He glanced at his surroundings, noticing he was near the back entrance to the kitchen. He went up to the small roof and laid down to stare at the night sky, held the rune near his nose, allowing the lavender and the other cloying scent to fill his nostrils.

He was hard again, but this time he intended to do something about it.

 


End file.
